They entered the same room as earlier but this time Nigel was greeted with candles lining the tables, a darker atmosphere and lots of well-dressed people.
“Welcome!” The Boss’ voice boomed across the room and everyone stood to look at him. “Phoebe tells us you have completed the first task. Therefore, we are able to induct you into the Guild. While you still have two trials ahead of you, I am confident you will become a permanent fixture in the halls of this building.”
A roar went up around him as people stamped feet, banged tables and hollered. People grinned at him, and as he made his way to a space on the bench beside Phoebe, he knew it was all for him. Nigel the destroyer. Nigel the defiler.
He grinned like an idiot as he took a seat and tucked in. The meal was delicious. Hot chicken smothered in barbecue sauce, roasted peppers and plenty of homemade bread to go around. He was in heaven. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten so well – or so much.
“So Nigel, I’m Glenn,” the man beside him said, striking up a conversation.
“Hello.” Nigel nodded towards him, swallowing his mouthful of food.
“I’m known for the power-tool murders around here.”
“He gets very defensive about it,” Phoebe whispered.
“Do not!”
“Uh-huh!”
“So what’s your forte?” he asked Nigel.
It was the first time Nigel had considered the possibility that he might need to have a thing. He looked around the hall at the sea of faces and knew they all had something special. They all had a way about them, a certain style, and that’s what he was missing. He needed an MO. He shrugged. “I don’t know yet.”
“Well, if you want help to work on it, let me know.” Glenn bit a hunk of chicken off the bone.
Nigel nodded. Now this was something. He had to make his identity. Each move from now on would be monitored, criticised and reviewed. He needed to focus, and quick.
“Hey.” Phoebe nudged him. “Don’t look so worried. It’s in there.”
He bit his lip. Perhaps it was, but his mind was blank at that moment and it was like he was pre-Guild Nigel again. He wouldn’t go back to that now, couldn’t. “What’s yours?”
“Hammer.”
Nigel looked about the room at the ruthless killers he was breaking bread with.
As if she sensed his anxiety, Phoebe leaned in. “We have a strict pact here in the Guild. No killing the other members. It’s the only rule we have beyond the trials.”
He breathed a sigh of relief. It felt good to know he was both safe and protected here in the Guild, though it didn’t stop the worry flowing through him. The next trials were tomorrow and he had to work on it, to find something that portrayed him as a person, his style and flair. What could that be? He glanced around the room. Everybody there had an MO, a unique style, and he would have to find something that would fit him and prevent him from treading on toes.
He sighed. It was going to be a long night.
“Listen up.” The Boss thumped the table and instant silence ensued. “Tomorrow night, the annual kill fest begins.”
A round of cheers coursed through the room.
The Boss held up his hand and peace reigned once more. “The story this year is that a gang of convicts has escaped from the nearby facility and are wreaking havoc.”
Phoebe smiled and whispered, “He comes up with a great cover story every year.”
“We have a leader board in the common room. With each kill you make you are expected to keep a tally. At the end of the night the person with the most wins the grand prize.”
“What’s the grand prize?” Nigel asked Phoebe.
“No idea.” She shrugged. “It’s top secret.”
“Nigel, are you in?” the Boss asked him directly.
Suddenly all eyes were on him. He stammered and fell silent.
“I know you are still completing your trials but I have every faith in you. Yes or no?”
The word came out without a thought. “Yes.”
The Boss’ face erupted into that wry grin. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. The challenge starts at midnight tomorrow, after which you have twelve hours, my lambs. Good night.”
The room erupted in a series of mutters and excited giggles.
This killing spree was it. This was Nigel’s chance to prove himself once and for all. He would show them all he could do this. He was meant for this life. It was what he had been waiting for.
“Who won last year?” Nigel asked.
“The Prickler.” Phoebe nodded to a man across the room. He sat in a corner, eyes closed and arms held in a pose above his legs as if he was meditating. “But I came close. This year I’m going to nail it.”
Nigel took a breath as he glanced at Phoebe. The woman was clearly well-respected and if he had anything to go by, the crazy faraway look in her eye told him all he needed to know. She would certainly put up a good fight. He wondered if he would even come close to top on the leader board. He sure had to try.
“So it starts at midnight. I’m guessing there won’t be a lot of sleeping going on.”
Phoebe shook her head. “We prepare for this event over the year and when it comes, we go wild. The whole point is to show the world that there is more to death than just killing. It’s an art, and we need people to understand that.”
Nigel nodded. He understood that, all right. He remembered the way the knife had slid into the woman’s flesh and the way hot blood spurted on his hand, the thump in his chest. He bit his lip. “I can’t wait to do it again.”
“Hold your horses, cowboy. Get some sleep. You have a big day ahead of you.”
She slapped his arm playfully and Nigel took it as his cue to leave. Besides, she was right. He wanted to rest, to sleep and prepare for the big day ahead.
***
“So where are we going this time?” he asked as he followed Phoebe the next day. It was close to midday and despite not having slept well, he felt fresh. The woman could have been leading him into the very depths of hell but he inherently trusted her.
Phoebe, his mentor, his friend. Without her he would have found none of this. He would still be living his same dull life, moving from café to work to home and repeating the process. He had been stuck on a spin cycle and now that he was finally out of it, he felt invigorated. His whole body tingled with anticipation as he wondered what would be coming next. Whatever it was, he would do it, hands down.
“Back to the killing floor.”
He grinned. The killing floor. The place where he’d made his first kill. Something swooped in his stomach and his grin widened. “What is my trial?”
“You’ll see.”
It wasn’t long before they reached the floor. Phoebe led him down a dark corridor with doors on either side and stopped in the middle. Nigel took in the scenery. Hell, if he had been on the other side of this, he would have been terrified. The place was dark beyond belief, the air colder than ice and the décor less than tasteful. The doors were made of metal, the studs either side depicting nail heads in a coffin. Overhead, only one bare bulb lit the entire corridor and he shuddered. The place was a nightmare.
“There are ten doors in this corridor. Behind each door awaits a surprise,” Phoebe announced.
Nigel looked up and down the corridor once more and saw numbers painted in red above each one of the doors. “I go through all ten?” he asked. He didn’t know whether that made him eager or worried.
Phoebe shook her head. “You get to pick one. Whatever you come across in that room, you have to deal with it.”
Nigel nodded. He got the concept but he had no idea what he faced. And everything was a game of luck. He could pick something awful or he could pick something nice. He glanced up and down the room.
“You ready?” she asked, her voice light and bubbly.
Nigel nodded. “Number seven.”
They walked to the door, their footsteps echoing across the stone. Phoebe lifted a key and inserted it
into the lock. She turned it and he heard it click. When she tried the handle it moved with ease.
She turned to grin at Nigel. “What’s behind door number seven?”
He smiled back and pushed the door, stepping into the darkness beyond.
As if sensing movement, a light came on. It was bright enough to illuminate his prey but not so bright as to make him shy away. He realised something in that moment: people like him dwelled in the dark. It covered them and hid them. Darkness was a friend, an ally, and he would come to use it to his advantage.
Inside he found a man strung up from the ceiling. His wrists were bound by chains and a piece of silver duct tape covered his mouth. The man’s eyes flicked open and bulged as he saw Nigel standing there in the doorway. He writhed against the chains but they held fast, his feet swaying and his big toe trailing across the ground where Nigel saw a thin sliver of blood.
He wondered how long the man had been chained up, awaiting his end. Ignoring the man, Nigel’s eyes moved across to a table at the side of the room. He strode to it and took in his array of tools. Then something else caught his attention. A note. He picked it up, unfolded the paper, and read the few lines there:
This man is a rapist. He has hurt and tortured women for much of his life. He gets away with it because he’s a cop. Do what you will.
Anger boiled through him as he crushed the paper in his fist. There was nothing worse than a cop abusing their position of power. The man swinging in the room was a scumbag. He tortured women for his own needs, held them against their will and then told them nobody would believe them.
He dropped the note back on the table and picked up a small knife. Running it across his finger, he felt the blade slice through his skin and smiled. Small and sharp. Good. He could have fun with this.
Strolling back to the man, Nigel circled him. He took in the pale white skin, the hairy ass, the sweat pooling at the base of his back. Then in a swift motion, he darted forward and felt the knife penetrate skin. The man bucked and when his legs dropped, Nigel saw a thin line of blood streaming from his side.
He continued to circle, coming to face the man. Nigel stood inches from him and watched as the man’s eyes filled with tears. Tears that would do him no good in a place like this. Crocodile tears. After all, how many women had he hurt? How many women had he made cry? Fucking sick pig.
Nigel slashed again. This time the blade crossed the chest and a small gash appeared, blood instantly seeping through the skin. They were shallow cuts but the sight of blood had Nigel wanting more. His little knife was like a razor and he knew it could do a lot of damage.
Lifting his hand, he pressed the flat side of the blade to the man’s cheek. The man thrashed, his legs coming to fall back against Nigel, but he didn’t move and the knife came back to place.
“You think I’m going to spare your life?”
The man nodded, eyes wide and tears running down his face. Nigel wondered how he would plead his case, if he could.
“Did you think of all those women you hurt? The women you raped?”
More tears.
Nigel snarled. “You are the worst kind of sick fuck there is and you are going to pay.” Spittle flew from his mouth and hit the man. He flinched for a second but then went back to pleading with his eyes.
Nigel turned the knife until the blade touched the man’s skin. Putting some pressure on the handle, he pulled the knife down the man’s cheek, watching as the flesh opened. Beneath he caught a glimpse of pink muscle and, as he pressed deeper, the maw of the mouth. He grinned, taking the blade away. The man’s face trickled blood and his mouth hung open. Nigel wondered whether it was pain or disbelief. Probably both. He didn’t care. What he cared about was revenge.
The rapist’s most important tool was below the belt, so Nigel decided he would take that away. His eyes travelled down the man’s sweaty, bloody body and came to rest at his groin. The man bucked as he watched Nigel reach forward, but his swing only took him so far away before he was thrown right back into place and his cock came to rest in Nigel’s hand. Nigel squeezed hard and watched the man’s face ball up, his eyes screwed tight, lines cutting across his temples.
“You’ll never hurt anyone again.”
Nigel stabbed the knife down into the base of the man’s groin and grinned as a feral growl came from behind the gag. He hacked and sawed, laughing as blood spurted from the member. It covered him, dripped on the floor, and then, finally, it was detached. He held it up in his hand, high enough for the man to see, and dangled it there for a second. Then he ripped the tape from the man’s mouth, releasing his squeal of pain. Taking the opportunity, he rammed the dislodged member into the man’s mouth and watched as he gagged and choked. Blood kept on spurting and it wasn’t long before his body began to slow.
Nigel stepped forward and grabbed the man either side of the face. “You deserve this.”
The light left the man’s eyes and his body fell limp against his shackles. Nigel stood there breathing hard, heart pounding in his chest.
Just then the door opened behind him and Phoebe bounced in. Her feet splashed through the blood on the concrete floor. Her hand reached up and grabbed Nigel’s arm, fingers stroking. Spinning, he mashed his lips against hers. She pressed her body into his and they stood in the gore of the killing, enjoying each other.
When she finally pulled away, she had a huge grin on her face. “Wow, Nigel. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“I thought that’s why you recruited me,” he said, panting.
“Oh, the killing, yes.” She nodded. “I meant a kiss like that.” She giggled.
“What now?”
“Want to do the honours?” She nodded towards the switch.
Nigel strode across the room to the bench and hit the button. Beneath the man, a hatch opened up and the chains that bound him released. Nigel smiled as he heard the body slam on the floor beneath before the hatch closed.
“Now go clean up and get ready for the next trial. I know you can do it.”
Nodding, Nigel left the room. He made his way back through twisting corridors and upstairs until he reached his room. He took a shower and watched as blood and gore pooled down the drain. He smiled. That was his work. His doing. He had done the world a favour and they didn’t even know about it. Well, maybe one day they would. They would know his name all over town, all over the world. He would be hailed as the most horrific killer of their time, a fable told to children to make sure they stayed in bed at night. All he had to do was perfect his MO.
When he was done showering, a pile of clothes lay on the bed for him. His groin twitched at the thought of Phoebe creeping into his room. Man, he wanted that woman so bad. She was clearly a force to be reckoned with and he would have a lot of competition when it came to the killing spree, but he was determined to beat her and then fuck her.
He dressed and then stepped out into the corridor. Phoebe waited for him there, leaning against a banister, hair wrapped around her fingers.
“Ready, soldier?”
“What’s next?”
“Something a little bit different. Come on.”
She skipped down the hallway and he followed. This time they avoided the killing floor, instead making their way along a corridor that looked relatively normal if not a little bland. Strip lights flickered overhead and windows showed him scenes of empty rooms. Then they stopped. Phoebe opened a door and motioned for him to step inside.
As soon as he did the door was closed and locked. He was stuck in there. Sudden panic crept up his throat but he swallowed it down. He wasn’t in any danger. He knew he was safe. He just had to figure it out.
In front of him was a square room. The walls were white and in the centre was a metal table. Three chairs were seated around the table and he knew instinctively he had to take the single. He did so, planting his ass and leaning on the table. This couldn’t be any worse than anything he had already faced. He just had to suck it up and deal with whatever came through th
e door.
It wasn’t long before the door opened. His back straightened and he watched as two men dressed in suits entered the room. They each took a seat opposite him, elbows resting on the table, stern looks firing his way, and he instantly knew what this was. An interrogation.
“Mr. Nigel Somersby?” the one on the left said. “I am Detective Allinson and this is Detective May. We’re here to ask you some questions.”
Nigel nodded and tried to hide the smile on his face. Though he knew what it was, he had to take it seriously. This was his last trial. All he had to do was work through this and pass the test and he would be a part of the Guild.
“One of our colleagues, Sergeant Wills, has been reported missing. He has not been seen for three days and we have reason to believe you know of his whereabouts.”
Nigel shook his head. “I don’t believe I’ve ever met the man.” He pictured the man hanging in the room, his foot trailing the floor, his body covered in welts.
“Come on, Nigel,” May added. “We know you know something.”
“What makes you think that?” Nigel asked, chin coming to rest on his hands.
“Traces of your DNA were found at his home.”
“That’s impossible. I don’t even know who he is.” He shook his head. He might have killed the fucker but he wouldn’t know his apartment.
“Where were you on the night of the 3rd?” Allinson asked.
Nigel rubbed his chin, pretending to think, and then finally answered, “Oh, I was in the café.”
“Which café is that?”
“Basement, in town.”
“I know the place,” May told Allinson.
“We will make moves to corroborate your story, Nigel,” Allinson warned him.
“That’s fine.” Nigel smiled. This was going well.
“Can you explain the newspaper clippings found in your flat that all pertain to a series of sexual assaults?” May asked.
Nigel’s mouth turned down. He certainly hadn’t collected anything of the sort but he had to keep cool. This was a trial. He chanted the words in his head. “I was getting ready to move, Detectives. I was collecting newspaper in order to wrap some of my precious belongings.”
What Goes Around Page 15